


Can't Catch My Breath

by orange_8_hands



Series: Popsicle Sticks [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Bullying, F/M, Gen, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Post-Serum, Pre-Serum, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-25
Updated: 2014-04-25
Packaged: 2018-01-20 17:43:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1519565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orange_8_hands/pseuds/orange_8_hands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain America used to have trouble breathing. Scott still does.  [Captain America/Teen Wolf Fusion]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't Catch My Breath

**Author's Note:**

> Unfortunately I can only write one story with a plot at a time, and it's definitely not this one. (Have some moments that complement [There's This Bridge in Brooklyn For Sale](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1114434/chapters/2244172), but basically all you need to know is Scott is Captain America & Stiles is the Winter Soldier.) Also I probably confused a 'breath' and a 'breathe' in this, so gratitude if you want to point it out.
> 
>  **TW:** Bullying, (very brief) mentions of torture, PTSD

 

 

They're walking home, Stiles zigzagging so he can kick pebbles, Scott stuffing his hands in his too big jacket. They both do their best to avoid the cracks (or you'll break your mother's back) and Stiles is rambling on about the history of suits.

  
"And then there's ties!" Stiles exclaims, waving his hands in Scott's face, who tries batting them away.

  
"Do you have one I can stuff in your mouth?" Scott asks.

  
Stiles pokes him in the side, careful to avoid his chest, the slight wheeze underneath Scott's words. "If I did I would have left you strangled and buried already," Stiles says.

  
They're young. There's no bullies that day.

Scott just smiles back.

  
      ***

  
By the time Scott manages to push Stiles onto a cot he's weaving back and forth and keeps grabbing Scott's biceps, his shoulder, patting his face. "Wasn't expecting to see you again," Stiles slurs, and Scott's positive he shouldn't get the wind knocked out of him anymore but that does it.

  
"Different," Stiles adds, curling into one of his impossible shapes he got used to sleeping in, back one of the times Scott was dying and Stiles still kept visiting. "Gotta smile so I can see."

  
Scott peels his shirt off gently, feels that one two punch of air out of his lungs again (the serum was supposed to _stop_ that) when he sees what's really been left of his chest. Even through the dirt and slash of blood Scott can tell it's not bad, was no worse than that time Stiles got them lost trying to find the Ramble and tripped head over heels when they were crashing through, but there's strength in his fists when he curls them now. He breathes out, grabs the water and cloth, sitting in the space Stiles automatically left him. He manages two soft swipes across Stiles' chest before he remembers.

  
"See what?" Scott asks.

  
"Ya dimples," Stiles says, eyes slitting open. "You still got your dimples, right?" He cracks a smile. "Cause I gotta tell ya, pal, even with all this," and he raises a hand to lazily encompass Scott's new body, "you need all the help you can get."

  
He's supposed to say something here, has the words all lined up and stuck in his throat. He squeezes the cloth again, tries to clear his voice without making a sound. "You walked out of there Stiles," Scott whispers, a secret between them. "You did fine till we got to camp."

  
"I'm just tired from the walk," Stiles says, like it's a logical answer.

  
"Yeah," Scott sighs. "That's what's got me worried. Heather said they had you for awhile."

  
Their moms used to call them both stubborn, stubborn boys trying to get the other one to crack first. Stiles keeps his eyes on Scott until he nods, lifts the cloth again. Stiles closes his eyes. "Should've known they were talking about you. Captain America." Stiles snorts. "I'm gonna have fifty punch lines for you tomorrow."

  
"Sure you will. And they'll all suck."

  
The cloth wipes away the last of the dirt, and Stiles rolls over so Scott can get his back. There's still no cuts deep enough to explain the blood on the inside of his uniform.

  
       ***

  
"Jesus, Stiles," Scott says through panting breaths, trying to drag enough air in his lungs. He leans against the slammed front door. "What were you thinking?"

  
"What?" Stiles says, even though he knows. His face is sharper these days, under the buzzed haircut and loss of mom. Warm brown eyes, usually, but his long arms are crossed and looking at Scott like he's in the wrong.

  
"You know what," Scott tells him. He shakes his head, feels the back of it brush against the wood door. "You know exactly what. They could have gotten -"

  
"Hurt?" Stiles interrupts. "Yeah, that was the plan."

  
"Really hurt," Scott snaps. "This isn't just jokes anymore, okay, you can't do that. Just because your dad-"

  
"Is still around?" Stiles says, sneers, and Scott stutters before Stiles' whole face goes lax in apology. "Fuck, that was so out of line, I didn't, Scott I'm sorry I didn't." He beats a fist against his temple. "Fuck."

  
"Yeah," Scott says. He slides down the door, makes no move away when Stiles comes hunker down next to him, his face resting on his bent knees. "Ok, that was pretty shitty."

  
"Ya think?" Stiles says, but he glances out the corner of his eye to look at Scott. "It was really out of line."

  
"Lot of that going around these days," Scott says, serious and quiet. "It wasn't just today, okay? You've been crossing the line for months now." He places a hand on the back of Stiles' neck, takes a breath before adding, "I miss her too."

  
Stiles falls to the side of him, and Scott curls himself around him as best he can. _My body's too small,_ Scott thinks, and feels Stiles shudder in his arms.

       ***

  
Allison Argent has a wicked tilt to her lips, hands holding weapons like they were made to. The first time he sees her is the first time everybody sees her, punching Matt Daehler and looking faintly amused, maybe more bored, when he went down like, well, like Scott usually does. Scott had smiled, and for a brief second Allison had caught his eye, humor lighting her eyes, and -

  
Allison is with him in the car taking him to the experiment lab, and he's nervous, keeps blabbering about his childhood, which was mostly good (good mom, good friend, what else you need?) but filled with a lot of alleyways, and bruises, and a couple of broken bones, half of them from those alleyways.

  
"So, uh, the army, huh?" Scott says. He can feel Stiles face palm as if he's right next to him.

"Nous chassons ceux qui nous chassent," Allison says. "It is what I do. And I had to fight a lot of people to get here."

  
Scott nods.

  
      ***

  
The chairs outside the principal's are uncomfortable. Scott twists, trying to settle down, wanting to poke Stiles because he was sprawled out and humming softly.

  
"Mom's going to kill us," Scott says. "I told her I wouldn't get into any more fights this week. But no, you just had to punch Joey."

  
Stiles just shrugs, tapping his fingers against the chair. "You're the one who started it, telling him off for saying that stuff about Melanie."

  
"I wasn't going to hit him though."

  
"Well he was going to hit you."

  
"Yeah, well you hit him first."

  
Stiles smile lights up. "It was cool, right? Pow, right in the kisser."

  
"The kisser," Scott repeats, in a tone he's used most of his life.

  
Stiles pouts his lips and starts blowing exaggerated kisses at Scott.

  
Scott keeps his eyes on Stiles and only lets out a smile when the hand clamps down on his shoulder, startling Stiles so bad he falls out the chair.

  
The principal looks at both of them. "Why am I not surprised? Well, come along then, both of you."

  
As the principal walks through the door Stiles elbows him. "Still though, I totally took care of business, right?"

       ***

Heather and Danielle share pointed looks. "So how far in training did you get, exactly?"

  
Scott shrugs, uncomfortable. "Well, I mean, I was only picked near the end, I made it through most of basic."

  
"But you've never actually seen any battle?"

  
"Just getting you all out."

  
"Right." Heather bites her lip. "Ok." She glances around, catches Stiles - like always - watching. "You want to help?"

  
His face does something complicated, but it smooths out into a grin by the time Scott turns around to look. "He does need all the help he can get."

  
"So why we asking you?"

  
Stiles snorts. "I picked up some things." He seems to fade off, catches himself, flings the pebble he was fiddling with at Scott, who blocks it easily with his hand. "You may be the man with the plan, but I got all the details."

  
Scott makes a face, pretends to choke an imaginary Stiles but the rest of the Howling Commandos have already started to sing about the star spangled man with a plan, not a single voice in pitch.

  
      ***

Scott watches the liquor in the bottle, less than a shot left and still not affecting him.  He says, half to Allison and half to himself, "I'm going after Deucalion. I'm not going to stop 'til all of the Alpha Pack are dead, or captured."

Allison places her hand on Scott's forearm and squeezes. "You won't be alone."

  
Scott glances over. His eyes are red, face drawn, body sagging with grief. "So another person can die?"

"Nous protégeons ceux qui ne peuvent pas se protéger eux même." She squeezes again. "You taught me that, Scott, just by being you. You taught Stiles too."

  
Scott shakes his head. "Who do you think took care of me?" He laughs, a broken thing. "You know how many times he's patched me up?"

  
His chest feels on fire, trying to swallow the sobs down.

       ***

  
The first time they make it out from blowing up one of the bases Stiles whoops so loud the rest can hear him over the last faint boom. Heather's jumping on Danielle's back and Scott is laughing.

  
They're able to celebrate that night, after the adrenaline crash and debriefs, and Scott opens up a tab again, just like he did when he asked them to join him.

  
"You should do this every time," Heather says.

  
Scott rolls his eyes, but Stiles is already leaning over his shoulder, nodding. "Yeah. If we can reach booze, we should celebrate every successful mission." _Or mourn the bad ones_ , he doesn't add.

  
"Oh sure," Scott says, chin tilted up like royalty. "Lemme guess whose buying this booze."

  
Stiles frowns, pokes Scott's shoulder. "And none for you. 'Tis a waste."

  
"A waste, a waste, a shame and a waste," the rest sing, and fall across the table laughing.

  
Scott keeps his posture until Stiles pokes him again. "You know, your jaw line's uneven. Never wanted to say anything, but you look really stupid when you do that."

  
"Do what?" Scott asks, turning slightly to look him in the eye.

  
Stiles' breath smells like liquor as it crosses Scott's nose, but he's not as drunk as he's pretending to be. "Stick your chin up. Like you're a general on some fancy gold coin. Makes you seem distant, like a statue."

  
"I'm right here, Stiles," Scott says, and Stiles doesn't say, _I know, but you're not supposed to be._

 

He's not as drunk as he's supposed to be either.

       ***

  
Sometimes when Stiles comes by, Scott isn't home. Sometimes he picked up work, various jobs that put too much pressure on his chest but bring in some extra money. Sometimes he's not there because he went to the movies, or helped someone out, or was just out walking, there was no chaining the guy down, Stiles' already tried.

  
"Fuck, Scott," Stiles says, glancing into the mouth of the alleyway and catching a glimpse of him, struggling to get up as a man three times his size goes at him. Stiles races over, punching the guy as hard as he can in his jaw. The guy's head swings back, and he still looks too alert so Stiles punches him again, same spot, perfect aim. The guy staggers back, tries to shake it off, but he seems to catch sight of Stiles and it's not that Stiles is a big guy, but when Scott starts bleeding he gets a look in his eye and the jaw hurts more than the man wants to admit. He shakes his head again, spits out blood towards Stiles feet, but lumbers out of the alleyway with just a few muttered curses.

  
Stiles is already turning to Scott, helping him to stand up. He leans him against the alley wall, trying to get a good look at the cut bleeding on his forehead, before he realizes Scott isn't just trying to catch his breath but is actively having trouble breathing. He's fumbling in his pockets for his inhaler, but when he doesn't find it Stiles grabs the one he keeps in his pocket and shoves it into Scott's face.

  
"Breathe, you fucking asshole," Stiles says, and Scott holds up his middle digit in response.


End file.
